


Sitting on Truths

by aclosetlarryshipper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Kissing, M/M, No Smut, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aclosetlarryshipper/pseuds/aclosetlarryshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know,” Harry says, unsure what exactly he’s agreeing to.</p><p>“Can we just…” Louis sighs. “We don’t have to do this right now.”</p><p>And Harry feels it to his core, then. That wall between Something and Nothing, hit by a cannon ball but still standing, though it’s crumbling by the minute.</p><p>or, A summer camp AU where Louis is Harry's High School Romance that Could Have Been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sitting on Truths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiveLaughLoveLarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/gifts).



> I think this turned out a bit more angsty than you requested, but I hope you like it anyway! It ends happily, I promise :)

*****

It’s still dark. The streetlamps glow bright, the moon is a perfect crescent shining upon the summer rain puddles in the street, and the earth is placid and quiet.

In a perfect world, Harry would still be asleep. However, the world is neither perfect nor fair, so he’s tackled awake by 140 pounds of pure, bright energy.

“Camp! Camp begins today! Get up, get up, _get up_ , you lazy bum!” Louis laughs, his hands tugging at Harry’s curls.

Harry rolls his cheek into his pillow, purposefully ignoring Louis’ thighs constricting around his waist. Normally Harry would tug Louis down to lie with him, maybe sneakily grasp Louis’ fingers between his under the guise of _trying to get him to stop,_ but it’s too early for furtive flirting.

“I quit. Just go without me,” Harry mumbles into the abyss.

Louis lets out a disdainful sigh and moves to lie beside Harry, their eyes level as he pouts. He always does say Harry’s more agreeable when they’re on even ground. He reaches a hand out and lets his fingers glide through Harry’s strands of hair, lip between his teeth as his eyes search Harry’s face in the dark.

“Camp would be nowhere near as fun without you there with me.”

And, well. If there’s anything that can get Harry’s heart racing at three in the morning, it’s Louis praising him.

Half an hour later, Harry has a blue beanie placed atop his head and hideous hiking boots on his feet as he packs the last of his bags into the backseat of Louis’ shitty, scratched Saturn. He’s shivering even though it’s summer, the night chill strong, the ground and grass of his front lawn wet.

“Is that everything?” Louis asks him with a smile, somehow able to keep his eyes open this early in the morning. Harry nods and climbs into the passenger seat, leaving Louis to close the trunk behind him.

Once they’re both inside, Louis sends him a smile as he connects his iPod and flicks on the headlights. He has to wiggle the parking brake a few times for the car to start, but then they’re on the open road, beginning their two-hour journey to Camp Lakeshore.

“I’m hyped on about a gallon of espresso,” Louis tells him a few minutes later, eyes responsibly to the empty road as the speedometer inches towards ticket territory. “I’ll wake you up when we’re there. Get some rest." 

Harry trusts Louis’ driving and tries his best to get back to sleep, but in Louis’ presence he can never truly get his mind to stop whirling.

His scab from drunkenly attempting a half-ramp on a skateboard at the graduation party hasn’t even healed yet, and they’re already making the drive to waste away the majority of their _very last_ summer before beginning university. The past few weeks have been a blur, and it feels like the finality of this summer has snuck up on them.

Not that it’s necessarily bad—not at all. Harry absolutely loves this job. He loves the outdoors and the fun he has with the campers and the free (admittedly crappy) food and the pay is _amazing._ He loves the way the earth smells in the morning and how quiet is up on the secluded mountain in the middle of the night. He loves that feeling of tranquility he can never quite reach in the middle of the city, hindered by the bright lights and the constant need to _do_ something.

He loves the camp, he really does, but most of all, he loves Louis.

Which is a terrible admission for him to make when he’s not even _with_ Louis. Louis is his best friend by a long mile—the first person he came out to when he was 16, the victim of all of Harry’s spontaneous rom-com marathons, his go to person for advice—but he isn’t actually _his._

Harry wants to be his so badly. He’s wanted to be Louis’ ever since that late night Harry whispered that he walked in on his parents having sex and that he wanted to move far, far away, never to be seen again. Louis hadn’t laughed or made a joke of it—he’d just suggested they watch porn to get the image out of his head.

And it worked. Almost too well.

Harry hasn’t been able to imagine anyone else since. His crush, even at 16, had felt strong—stronger than any of the crushes any other friends talked about. Harry didn’t just think Louis was cute or hot or funny, he thought all that and more.

Harry’s been in love with his best friend for two years, but it had always been an impossibility, a taboo cliché that Harry could never bring up, because Louis had always been taken. It was the oldest story in the book: _lovesick teenager pawns after impossibly gorgeous and desirable best friend to no avail. Insert crying and many nights writing shitty poetry in a diary he stole from his sister._

That is, until Louis’ call came at three in the morning, his voice wavering and unsure, asking to come over. He’d looked a mess, eyes bloodshot, nose dripping snot, skin cold but forehead glazed in sweat as he told Harry what had happened. Harry remembers the night being bittersweet—he’d held Louis all night and whispered to him all of the nice things he’d had to bottle up since he made his Realization, but he’d been unable to tell Louis how he felt, recognizing that the wound was too new and fresh. The timing didn’t feel right and he didn’t want Louis to resent him or be thrown off, so he bit his tongue and scratched at Louis’ scalp the way he liked, discontent with becoming his rebound.

And in the weeks after the break up, Harry meant to bring it up—had _dreamed_ of it, actually. But there’s a huge difficulty in crossing the bridge from Nothing to Something that Harry found immensely intimidating. He hadn’t wanted to come on too strong too quickly, but there’s no guidebook stating how long to wait before actually coming on to your best friend after a break up. He also still didn’t want to be Louis’ rebound, and surely that’s all he could be while Louis was stuck doodling frowns and broken hearts into his notebooks during English.

And that’s why Harry is currently sinking into Louis’ passenger seat, still sitting on truths that burn more by the minute. He still hasn’t been able to say the words. To bring it up.

Which he’s finding he regrets… A Lot.

Because now that Louis finally seems to want more, the timing couldn’t be worse. They’ll both be going to different universities in the fall, so it almost seems pointless or a sure set up to heartache if they were to try anything now, when they’re stuck in the lame duck period of their relationship.

He really thinks Louis would be open to trying things out, to making their relationship _more_. Harry knows he’s attractive and there’s seemed to be a subtle shift in their relationship in the past few months, almost unnoticeable, just an easier invasion of space, more late night hang outs, conversations that edge on _more,_ but he’s also seen the way everyone’s relationships have dropped like flies sprayed with Raid in the months leading to graduation.

He’s accepted that Louis is his High School Romance that Could Have Been, but will never be. It wasn’t in the cards. It’s just too late. Maybe if they’d gotten together earlier, there’d be a chance.

He so wishes _he_ were the person Louis dated at 16. He even lets himself dream about their life that could have been when he’s feeling particularly angsty on cold nights: they might even still be together now. They could have shared a cramped dorm and pushed their beds together to create one huge one. They could have stolen the others’ sweatshirts and had one shared closet, to the point where they couldn’t even tell whose clothes were whose. They could have taken pointless classes together and found all of the secret smoking spots on campus and had sex on their friend’s bed while they pounded on the door for them to get out. Louis could have murmured those special three words to him while they were drunk on wine, candles lit in their shared room as they kissed.

They could have loved each other _so well_. But as it is, they’re just friends. And that’s probably the saddest story Harry’s ever heard or had to live out.

“Hey, Lou,” he says. Louis turns down the radio and glances over, letting Harry know he’s listening. It’s so dark outside Harry can’t see beyond the headlights, but he feels safe.

“Will you still love me more than all of your new friends you make next year?” Harry asks. He pulls his knees close to his chest and leans his cheek against the cold window, trying to appear more nonchalant than he feels.

“Of course not,” Louis scoffs. And Harry knows it’s a joke, but somehow the implication cuts him deeper than the harsh line of the seat belt digging into his throat. Louis continues. “I’m going to forget all about you and only call you when I need bail money." 

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles, his eyes slipping shut.

“Hey. Hey, Harry,” Louis says a moment later, fingers pressing into Harry’s shoulder. The corners of Harry’s mouth perk up at Louis’ serious tone. Louis is known to take jokes miles too far, but he always knows where Harry’s invisible line is and refuses to cross it.

“You already know nobody could ever replace you. And that I could never forget about you. We’ve been through way too much together, you know?”

Harry nods, though he’s not entirely convinced.

It’s true that nobody else would have streaked across the football field with Harry on their last day of junior year. It’s true that Harry would never have _dared_ to tell anyone else about walking in on his parents. It’s true that Harry was the one who watched Louis’ sisters overnight when Louis was kept overnight at the hospital for appendicitis. It’s true that Harry was the one Louis cried to at three in the morning after he’d been dumped. It’s true that Louis has seen him at his worst but still stuck around. It’s true that he’d trust Louis with his life.

It’s true that Louis is truly the closest person to him other than his immediate family, but, in the end, distance and life get in the way.

Harry’s mom doesn’t talk to any of her childhood friends. She always talks about how he’ll meet his true friends in university, about how they’re the ones he’ll have in his wedding and whose children will be his godchildren and the ones who will be there for him when he needs them most. But that scares Harry. Louis has always been that for him, and thinking about Louis being someone else’s number one is terrifying.

“It’d be a waste to have to try to meet someone else who’s willing to put with me when I already have you for that right here,” Louis adds on like it’s a joke.

“I’m so happy to hear how much our… _this_ … means to you,” Harry stumbles over his words, feeling that _friendship_ doesn’t quite cover the territory of their relationship.

Louis takes a deep breath, tendons white on the steering wheel. “Okay, well, I guess there’s that whole _I love and care about you too much to do that_ thing, too. That’s a thing.”

Harry doesn’t respond, he just lets the words wash over him as his heart expands. He _knows_ Louis loves and cares about him, but Louis is jokes and glossing things over, only straight to the point when it matters.

He’s glad to know he matters, at least in some way. If he can’t have Louis as a boyfriend, he’d still gladly take him as his best friend. He’d take him in any way. As long as he got to have a piece of him forever.

“Well… that was entirely too dramatic for the situation,” Louis says, letting out a nervous little laugh that signals to Harry that he wants an explanation.

“No,” Harry murmurs. “Not too dramatic. I’m, like… nervous for next year. I think that’s what I needed to hear.”

Harry turns his head so his smile is hidden by the window; Louis always knows what he really needs to hear and he never hesitates to tell him. 

“Harry,” Louis breathes out, his voice soft, blending into the melody. “You know nobody even comes _close.”_

The sun begins to peak over the horizon a few songs later. The sky is still gloomy, clouds blanketing the earth and making everything feel dull. There’s no vibrant orange, just grey tinted with dismal pink. Harry hopes it isn’t foreshadowing his summer.

Once they begin to chug up the mountain, Harry feels motion sickness coming on. He pulls his hood over his head and buries his face in his pillow, and it feels like only moments later Louis is shaking him awake. He blinks into the early morning light, cracking his back in preparation for Drop Off Day.

*****

Harry watches Louis from the window of his cabin, his broomstick lying on the floor abandoned, though he’s inside on the premise of “sweeping duty.”

Louis is leaning against the wooden railing at the front of his cabin, right below the number 5 swinging in the slight wind. The sun is high at the center of the sky, signaling that the campers can only be mere miles from their drop off area.

Louis looks so good, his hair a little bit overgrown and his face contemplative. His fingers look twitchy, almost like he’s itching for a cigarette—the ones he smokes at parties sometimes. Harry always wishes that he could know exactly what Louis is thinking, but he’s also a bit preoccupied with his pre-camp jitters.

Harry’s actually missed most of his campers, except for Tommy because he and his parents are homophobic _dicks_ that requested a different camp counselor when they took one look at Louis that first Drop Off Day.

The rest of them are great, though. Smart, funny, and always down to prank Louis’ cabin. They’ve been “mortal enemies” (coined by the kids) for two years, ever since Louis and Harry were miraculously approved as camp counselors and Louis declared a prank war.

Harry can almost smell the remnants of the first prank even now—the shaving cream. He can remember the way Louis and his minions painted the inside of the cabin white with the substance, how the walls still give off that calming scent when it rains. Even today, the cabin smelled like nostalgia when Harry first unpacked his bag early this morning.

Louis glances across the path, his eyes seemingly falling to Harry’s cabin. It’s one of the three original camp cabins, with wood so old it’s whitening in some spots, the spider webs overwhelming, and the worst insulation of all. It’s not a pretty sight, but Harry senses the opportunity and he swings the front door open, grabbing his broom from the ground and shimmying as he exits.

Harry can feel that Louis is watching him wiggle his hips and dance as he sweeps his front porch, but they’re interrupted by a school bus slowly emerging from the trees, coming to a stop on the dirt path behind Cabin 7, Leigh Anne’s. Harry pauses and watches from a distance as she emerges from her front door, her list of campers in hand as she straightens out her red polo, showcasing her name tag attached to her chest before she makes her way to the buses.

Harry returns his attention to Louis, always watching. He watches as he stretches his arms out in front of him and pulls his list from his pocket, Louis sighing as he descends the two steps to the patchy grass, presumably ready to assist with some heavy lifting, assuming the overbearing parents will let him touch a thing.

Harry drops his broom and calls after him.

“Lou! Wait up!” Louis stops walking but doesn’t turn back, and Harry’s heart rate begins stammering. He approaches Louis and throws an arm around his shoulder, bracing himself from eight weeks of babysitting. “You ready? I’ve got two new ones this year!”

“Let’s hope they’re cool, yeah? No more Tommy’s,” Louis kicks at the ground.

Harry’s eyes darken and his fingers dig into Louis’ shoulder. He knows Louis is still a little bit cut up about it, two years later. “I really tried to get him transferred to Liam’s cabin, not mine.”

Louis nods and shrugs as they approach the drop off zone. “It’s whatever. It’s his last year here, anyway.”

“It’s our last year here, too,” Harry points out, his voice a mix between relief and sadness.

They're interrupted by Harry’s favorite camper, Andre, running to him and throwing his arms around his waist.

“Harry!” he yells into his sternum. “I missed you!”

Harry hugs him back and runs a few fingers through his tight curls, snapping into counselor mode. “I’ve missed you too, kid. How’s your summer been so far?”

Andre pulls back and toes at the ground, almost bashful after glancing at Harry’s arm still draped over Louis’ shoulder. “Pretty boring. But I think it’ll be more fun now that I’m here.”

“Hey Andre,” Louis cuts in, giving him a fist bump. “I think so too. It’s always a lot more fun with Harry, isn’t it?”

Andre’s eyes light up and he grins, showcasing his full mouth of braces. “Yeah! We’re gonna prank your cabin so bad!”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but Mr. Walsh, the camp director, chooses that moment to yell introductions through a megaphone. Harry shares a quick _good luck_ glance with Louis before they separate, muscles flexing in preparation for the many duffle bags they’ll be carrying.

“Welcome to Camp Lakeshore!”

* 

“It feels hotter this year,” Tommy complains. He’s sitting cross-legged on his unmade bed, thankfully across the room from Harry’s bunk.

_11 year olds._

Harry refrains from rolling his eyes, intent on making a good first impression on his two new campers. They’re both unpacking with a slightly lost expression, unsure eyes flickering to all the other boys reconnecting and chatting, looking like lost puppies.

“Why don’t we do an ice breaker?” Harry suggests, ignoring Tommy’s complaints. “We’re going to be living together for eight weeks, after all. We might as well get to know each other!”

The two newbies, Adam and Yoseph, widen their eyes in terror.

“Why don’t you say the most exciting thing you’ve done this summer so far?” Harry suggests. “Andre? Maybe you can go first?”

Andre nods and drops his pillowcase to the floor. “I went to Yosemite with my mom! There was a really big waterfall and it was really green! I slipped and scraped my knee, but it was still fun.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Yosemite!” Harry nods encouragingly. “That sounds like it was a lot of fun. Has anyone else been there?”

Adam hesitantly raises his hand. “I have.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, turning his attention to him. “When did you go? Did you like it?”

Adam bites his lip. “Yeah. When I was seven. I don’t remember much. But I remember being afraid of bears.”

Harry nods. “Well, luckily, there are no bears in this part of the mountain. What have you done this summer, Adam?”

From there, the conversation feels much less stilted, more like a coherent group that might actually grow to eventually enjoy each others' presence. Once everyone is unpacked and introduced, they all begin their trek to the dining commons. 

The walk is short. Harry stays at the back of the group to make sure everyone stays in sight, but Andre hangs back to chat.

Harry is truly fond of this little fellow. He hip bumps him and smiles. “Don’t you want to go talk to your friends?”

“Are we friends?” Andre asks, pouting.

“Of course,” Harry reassures him. “But I’m also your counselor. They’re a lot more fun than me.”

Andre aims a grin to the ground. “No, you’re the best. How’s your summer?”

Harry shrugs, unsure. “It’s been good. I’ve just been hanging with my friends, finishing up last minute training and things. Nothing too exciting.”

Andre nods, eyes shrewd for someone with only 11 years of life lived. “Is Louis your boyfriend now?”

Harry has never regretted bonding with a child more. He’d told Andre that in _confidence_ after he’d had a little bit too much after-dessert whiskey behind the cabin with Louis last year. “No! We’re just friends. And you know that.”

“Sure,” Andre says. “I think you still like him a lot.”

This isn’t the type of conversation Harry wants to have with his camper on Day 1. Even though Andre is 100% correct and 100% his favorite.

“I like Louis a lot, but not like _that_ anymore _._ We’re going to live an hour away from each other by the time school starts again, anyway. It wouldn’t work.”

Andre looks sad. “That just means you need to make him fall in love with you before then.” 

* 

Harry slams his tray down beside Louis’, anticipating the excited yell that follows. They’ve had the same cramped counselor corner for the past few years, squeezing far too many people into the two benches than should fit.

Niall jumps up and throws himself into Harry’s arms, rambling about how much he missed him and how he’s brought five bottles of vodka for nights off in the woods and how Harry smells better than he remembers. Next he’s engulfed by a hug from Leigh Anne, her greeting much less loud and more practical.

Zayn and Liam fist bump him from across the table, and then Harry squeezes himself between Louis and Eleanor. “The sloppy Joes look just as disgusting as ever.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes beside him. “They’re the worst first day tradition I’ve ever heard of. I don’t even like _well-made_ sloppy Joes. They’re disgusting.”

“Not true!” Louis says beside him, mouth full of food. “These are the best things they make here. I’m going to steal one for later tonight. Barbara never says no to me.”

 _“Anyway,”_ Liam butts in, voice curt as he prods at his vegetables. Whereas Louis is all fun and mischief, Liam is fairness and straight to the point; Harry thinks Liam secretly is jealous of Louis’ easygoing nature. “How do you guys like your new campers? I’ve got a few shy ones myself.”

Louis immediately launches into a long winded story about his new camper that realized he forgot to pack any socks but the ones on his feet, all the way from the initial realization to the pretending everything is okay to the tears and phone call home. Harry doesn’t touch his food as Louis talks, too engrossed in the way he can make even the most mundane story sound like a thrilling saga, a skill Harry does not possess.

Eleanor takes over once Louis takes a breather to finish his sloppy Joe, complaining about her returning camper, Jenny, who can never shut up about _Niall,_ of all people. Niall laughs it off, but he gets a bit pink in the cheeks when said camper wanders over to their table halfway through the telling.

“Hi, El,” Jenny looks up at Niall from under her eyelashes. “Can we go outside to warm up for capture the flag? Or is it too early?”

Eleanor stares up at her from her spot on the bench. “I told you _before_ we left the cabin that you could go outside as soon as you’re finished eating. As long as you don’t wander past the campfire.”

“Oh,” Jenny over dramatically widens her eyes. “I forgot, sorry. Hi Niall!" 

“Hi Jenny,” Niall parrots back, the corner of his mouth twitching.

She stands there, mouth open like she’s going to say something else, but she turns red and sprints to the door a moment later. They all thankfully refrain from laughing until the door swings shut behind her.

“I swear to _God_ if she doesn’t stop pestering me when I’m with you, I’m never hanging out with you again,” Eleanor directs Niall’s way.

“That’s not his fault,” Louis protests, arm brushing up against Harry’s. “Niall didn’t ask to be so hot and tempting.”

Harry ignores his irrational stab of jealousy. He stabs into his side of broccoli instead.

 *****

Capture the flag. A game of tactics, deception, speed, and sexual tension, apparently.

Harry isn’t sure how it happens. One moment he’s guarding his side’s flag, the next he’s watching Louis sprint across the field, his feet a flurry and his legs flexing as he gains speed.

He’s so quick, so talented. Harry’s in love.

But it quickly becomes evident that Louis’ transgression across the line is all an elaborate distraction. The kids all swarm towards Louis, grabbing at his flags as he easily outruns them, strategically staying just out of reach for their grabbing hands.

Yes. Definitely in love.

Meanwhile, Leigh Anne sneaks across the opposite end, her pace slow and careful. Harry hardly notices, too engrossed in the lighthearted insults Louis is throwing over his shoulder.

“You’ll never be able to catch up,” Louis teases, throwing a wink over his shoulder as Andre chases him.

Leigh Anne runs as soon as she’s within arms reach of the mostly unguarded flag, capturing a few people’s attention. She expertly dips down to grab it, faking left and sprinting towards the middle line.

That definitely gets the kids’ attention. They leave Louis and chase after Leigh Anne, shouting in excitement and nerves. She screams and switches directions, running Louis’ way.

As they pass, she hands him the flag. Which Harry thinks is possibly cheating.

But it’s also when it clicks to Harry that saving the game is entirely up to him. Everyone is still chasing after Leigh Anne, oblivious to the illicit transfer. And now it’s not even just about chasing Louis. It’s about _honor_. It’s about _bragging rights_.

But it’s mostly about watching Louis from behind. Louis realizes it as soon as Harry does, eyebrows rising in a challenge as he runs away. 

Harry is not one to easily back down from a challenge. He cracks his neck and sprints after him.

Louis is quick, but Harry has the added advantage of not having run more than three feet the entire game, while Louis has been endlessly tiring himself out. Harry catches up to him just a few feet from the borderline, but forgoes ripping his flag and just… tackles him.

If Louis were a camper and anything less than his best friend, Harry could be fired in a minute. But Louis is not a camper and Harry very much wants for him to be more than his best friend, so instead of apologizing, he lets himself sink down into Louis’ back, his shoulders framing Louis’.

Louis’ body is heaving, out of breath and squished under Harry’s weight, but other than that, he stays perfectly still.

Harry is afraid to move as well, nose tickling at Louis’ sweaty hairline. He smells like a mixture of grass, unshowered boy, and cheap cologne from Wal Mart, but Harry finds that he likes it. His lips are only centimeters from Louis’ neck and he feels himself licking his lips, imagining how nice it would feel to sink his teeth into his skin.

After a few charged moments, Harry’s heart pounding against Louis’ back, Louis finally begins to squirm below him, attempting to throw him off of him, but.

_But._

That is bad. That is _Bad_ Bad. Harry is actually getting hard in front of a bunch of children in the middle of the day. Abort mission. He climbs off of Louis quickly, hoping his shorts are bunched up enough in the front to hide his half erection. 

Louis flips over and leans back on his elbows, smirking like he Knows something, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He looks Harry up and down, eyes lingering over his crotch.

“Everything okay, Curly?”

Harry makes up an excuse (Bathroom? A UFO crashing into the trees? A sprained ankle? He can’t remember) and runs away.

He is in too deep.

 *****

Harry is a fan of s’mores. Honestly, who isn’t? But Louis’ s’mores are _next level._ He roasts the marshmallow slowly and always knows exactly the right shade of brown to make them.

Louis refuses to make anyone’s s’more but Harry, and he prides himself on that accomplishment very much.

“Jesus, how long does this take?” Harry asks from his log, leg squished against Niall’s to keep them warm as Louis takes him time toasting the marshmallow.

Louis slowly rotates his stick, fire dancing across his tan skin. “Perfection can’t be rushed.”

Harry leans his head on Niall’s shoulder, listening as he chats with Liam about the long hike in the morning. Harry really isn’t looking forward to it, but it’s not like he can wimp out.

“Hey, Harry, do you think our names are still carved into that tree? I’m not sure I’d remember where it is to be honest, though,” Niall says, marshmallow fluff stuck to his fingers.

Liam’s jaw drops as Harry laughs. “That’s _nature,_ Niall. You can’t go carving your name into a tree.”

Niall sticks his tongue out, bringing his arm around Harry’s body to pat at his shoulder. “It’s not my fault Harry and I are so in love. We couldn’t hold it in.”

Louis swears loudly as his marshmallow drops into the fire.

“Louis!” Liam hisses, eyes wide. “Not in front of the _kids.”_

Louis abandons his stick and plops down beside Harry, back rigid. “Sorry. Dropped my marshmallow.”

Niall side eyes Louis as he bats his arm from Harry’s shoulder and replaces his own with it. A tense, charged silence follows, broken only by the occasional shouts from the campers and, eventually, by Liam awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Think I’m actually going to see what Zayn’s up to,” he says, standing and rubbing his palms together.

Harry, Louis, and Niall all silently watch as he goes, tickling a camper as he passes.

“Uh, the carving thing really didn’t—” Niall begins, but Louis shakes his head frantically to get him to stop. There’s fear in his eyes, a frenzied hopelessness stirring there.

“I’m gonna just. See whether Eleanor wants to be friends again,” Niall makes his escape next, glancing over his shoulder as he goes.

And then it’s just Harry and Louis, knees pressing together and Louis’ fingers digging into his shoulder. Louis is radiating an unsettling energy, one that makes Harry feel the need to explain something he knows he doesn’t actually owe to Louis.

“We didn’t. Niall doesn’t even swing that way,” he says lowly.

Louis drops his arm and laces his fingers together in his lap. “I know. I wasn’t, like… It’s fine.”

But Louis’ posture most definitely doesn’t read that it’s fine. His jaw is tense, a different type of fire burning behind his eyes.

“Louis, I’ve never actually wanted Niall,” he says, the added _not like I’ve wanted you_ as a mental addition. Louis smiles a little, like maybe he actually heard the whisper of it and approves.

Louis grabs a new marshmallow and roaster stick, making Harry the most perfect s’more he’s ever had, so he thinks he does.

*****

“Shh!”

Harry stays still and opens his eyes the tiniest bit to observe the situation, ignoring the chill seeping in through his sleeping bag and blanket.

Louis’ annual Drop Off Day prank has become a bit of a tradition. Harry’d just accidentally let himself doze off when Louis snuck in, his socked feet quiet on the wooden floor.

“Everyone pick someone, but I’ve got Harry,” Louis whispers to his campers, pointing to his feet to demonstrate that they have to be quiet about it.

He tiptoes to Harry’s bunk, quietly opening one of the drawers stacked beneath his bunk.

“Louis, what are you and your minions doing to me and my campers?”

Louis jumps, head popping up to meet Harry’s eyes. He’s a little bit taller than the bunk, his collarbones level with Harry’s eyes.

“How long have you been awake?” Louis asks, eyebrows furrowing.

Harry shrugs and reaches out to fix Louis’ turned out collar, voice soft. “Long enough. Why did you claim me?”

Louis gulps. “What if you had a condom stashed in your drawer? They’re only eleven. That would be an inappropriate conversation.”

Harry lets out a weak laugh and settles back into his sleeping bag. “What use would I have for condoms here at camp?”

Louis shrugs and ducks back down. “What use does anyone have for a condom, Harry?”

Harry bites his lip and tries not to imagine him needing a condom with _Louis_ behind the cabin _._ That’s too much late at night. Much too much.

“Are you stealing my underwear? That’s a mean prank.”

Louis pops back up and glares at him. “Of course I’m not stealing your underwear. I’m stealing the other halves of your socks. Much less vicious, but still annoying. I’m teaching my campers good prank etiquette.”

Harry groans. “Unmatched socks are the worst.”

“Don’t I know it,” Louis winks. He ducks down and presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead before turning, asking his campers whether they’ve finished the deed, sneaking back out once they all nod their affirmative.

 *****

Instead of supervising a heated water balloon fight, Harry is doing what he does best—staring at Louis. He’s coaching a soccer game against Niall’s group, yelling out encouragements and stealing the ball when he really has no right to.

Niall is just as bad, though. Sometimes Harry wishes he could play soccer just so he could feel less creepy watching Louis, but. He can’t. So instead he is content to fill water balloons and remind the campers not to aim for the face.

A water balloon to the chest interrupts his thoughts. He somehow refrains from swearing, turning to glare at the perpetrator.

A small girl that can’t be over the age of eight giggles, hands covering her mouth as she runs away.

*****

“Don’t worry. You’ll make it to the other end in no time, and think of how proud you’ll be after,” Louis whispers to a little girl, hands stoking through her brown hair as he comforts her. Harry doesn’t move from beside him, leaving Leigh Anne to deal with all of the other crying children as he… stares. Again. Because Louis and children is an unexpected positive Harry hasn’t anticipated when they became camp counselors.

Harry remembers how terrified he’d been when he was forced into his first solo night hike. He couldn’t have been over seven years old. He remembers crying, dropping to his knees in the middle of the path, and having to be led to the end by his counselor at the time.

It’s weird that now he’s on the opposite end, the one supposed to help out the kids with their own nyctophobia.

He feels a tug at the hem of his sweatshirt and is met with two wide brown eyes.

“I’m afraid,” his new camper, Yoseph, tells him. “I’ve never been alone in the dark. What if I get eaten by a bear?”

Harry frowns and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “There are no bears here. That won’t happen.”

Yoseph doesn’t seem very comforted by this piece of information, his voice watery. “What if I get lost? What if I twist my ankle or get lost in the mountain or there’s quicksand?”

Leigh-Anne sends them both a comforting smile and joins their small circle once her own camper is off into the night. She bends down, hands to her knees so she’s more on eye-level with Yoseph.

“Do you want me to walk with you? Would that make you feel better?” she asks.

Yoseph looks to the floor and scuffs at the dirt. “I want him to go with me. I don’t know you.”

Leigh-Anne opens her mouth in a gasp but keeps her composure. “Harry is of no use during the night hike. He screams whenever a twig snaps. I’m much more brave.”

“Hey,” Harry complains, but he doesn’t refute her statement. Though he was terrified as a kid, he’s definitely overplayed his fear the past few years to get Louis to hold his hand as they walk.

“Go on,” Louis nods to them. “Harry and I can handle the rest of them.”

Harry glances around, noting that there are only a few scared-looking campers still waiting to leave, arms crossed anxiously over their chests.

“Yeah? So what do you say?” Leigh-Anne asks Yoseph. “You ready?”

Yoseph gives Harry a questioning look but eventually nods his assent, hands stuffed into his pockets as he takes a few fumbling steps forward. 

They both (but mostly Louis) coax the last few frightened campers into making the hike. Louis’ demeanor is so calming but firm, his words encouraging but leaving no room for discussion, even with the most fearful camper. Louis convinces an eight-year-old girl to make the walk by suggesting for her to sing as she walks, and then it’s just him and Louis and the sounds of the night.

Which actually can be slightly terrifying while on a remote mountain, but with Louis, Harry has no fear.

“I think Yoseph has a little bit of a crush,” Louis says as he dusts off his pants. His eyes are bright as he caves in on Harry, the corners of his mouth upturned. “He didn’t want anyone but you.”

“Oh,” Harry says dumbly. Louis is getting so close. “I think he’s just shy, honestly.”

“Nah,” Louis shakes his head. “But I don’t really blame him.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, voice high. “You don’t?”

Louis take in a deep breath, eyes searching Harry’s face. “Who wouldn’t?”

Silence follows, the subtext vibrating in Harry’s brain. _Louis wouldn’t before._

Timing is the most annoying concept in the world. For something that is supposedly a construct, Harry can’t help thinking that he’ll never be able to conquer it. Time can ruin even the most surefire things, from being a minute late to a train, to the love of your life realizing only too late that they love you, too.

Harry’s blood freezes as Louis hesitantly reaches for his hand and nods his head forward, beginning their search for leftover, terrified campers that stopped halfway through the path. Harry feels his heart sink. For all the years Louis had to flirt openly with Harry, he had to have chosen the last few weeks they’d be together.

“You don’t,” Harry whispers. Louis’ hand breaks out into a sweat against Harry’s, his fingers tightening.

“Harry…” Louis trails off, head turned away. “You know that’s not, like…”

“I know,” Harry says, unsure what exactly he’s agreeing to.

“Can we just…” Louis sighs. “We don’t have to do this right now.”

And Harry feels it to his core, then. That wall between Something and Nothing, hit by a cannon ball but still standing, though it’s crumbling by the minute.

“Yeah, just this. It’s nice,” Harry squeezes Louis’ fingers between his.

“Really nice,” Louis agrees. “And I know you don’t really like it up here.”

Harry glances around, eyes overlooking the faraway cliff and the conglomeration of trees, the bright moon and the stars shining around them, the fog blurring the light. That, combined with Louis’ presence, makes it endurable—enjoyable, even.

“It’s not too bad,” Harry smiles, knocking his shoulder into Louis’. “You’re more muscular, so a werewolf would eat you first.”

“Oho,” Louis pulls his hand from Harry’s. “If _anyone’s_ getting eaten, it would be you.”

 *****

“Is everyone clear on what their job is?” Harry asks. He’s freezing, having insisted everyone take off their shoes before entering Louis’ cabin to keep quiet.

His campers all lift their packets of sticky-notes, nodding their affirmative.

Harry pushes the door open slowly, lip between his teeth as he checks to see that everyone is asleep. Once he’s satisfied, he gestures for everyone to come through, waving everyone to a different bunk as they go (leaving Louis’ for himself, of course.)

He tiptoes across the wooden floor, internally grumbling over how much warmer Louis’ cabin is. He pauses with his fingers poised to detach the first note, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Louis’ chest, frowning at how tightly Louis’ blankets are pulled to his neck. He’s not shivering, but he looks cold.

Harry keeps watch as he lines the pink squares along Louis’ bed frame. The furrow between Louis’ eyebrows doesn’t go away, so he opens Louis’ bottom drawer, the one where he knows Louis keeps his warmest jacket. He lays it out on top of Louis’ chest, knowing it won’t do much, but it’s not like he can just sit around and watch Louis freeze.

When Louis doesn’t stir, Harry bends down to plaster the notes to Louis’ drawers, secretly pleased with his handiwork; the rows are all even and well dispersed.

Harry stands again, surveying his campers’ progress, leaning his head against Louis’ bunk when he sees how much work they all have left.

“Not the most original prank,” Louis whispers.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, not entirely surprised. “It’s not very mean, though.”

“True,” Louis agrees. “Got to set a good example.”

They both watch as Harry’s campers meticulously place their sticky notes all over, keeping quiet. It isn’t until the final sticky note is placed that Harry sighs and turns back to face Louis. “Put your sweater on, okay?”

Louis nods. “Okay. I will.”

Harry bends down to kiss his nose before he leaves. “Good.”

 _*_

“I never got past the tadpole stage in my swimming lessons,” Harry tells Louis, sunscreen glistening on his bare chest.

Louis lets out a small laugh, aviators dark and shining with sunlight. “I think Liam could save two people at once if he had to. I’m not concerned with anything but my fading tan.”

Harry leans up onto his elbows, feet tangling together behind his back. “You’re always tan. Bronzed like caramel.”

“Ah,” Louis smiles. “You flatter me, Harry.”

“Just being honest,” Harry raises his eyebrows. He thinks Louis misses it.

Harry huffs and flops back onto his towel, eyes roaming across the rippling edge of the lake, children bobbing in the water and Niall and Leigh Anne leading a game of in-water volleyball. Liam is pacing along the beach, the water level no further than his toes, the muscles in his back tensing every time a child ducks underwater.

“You’re being boring,” Harry says.

That gets Louis’ attention. He pushes the brim of his glasses down his nose and gives Harry a once over. “What would make this more fun for you that doesn’t involve moving?”

Harry shrugs, flirty on the feeling of Louis wanting to make him smile. “Tell me something juicy.”

Louis flicks a piece of hair from his face. “What kind of juicy? Celeb gossip? What Eleanor told me she did to Max behind the tree last summer? My biggest sex fantasy?”

Harry’s eyes widen. He knows what he wants to hear, but he goes for nonchalant. “Um. All of those. I want one of each.”

“Hm,” Louis hums, a drawn out sound that makes Harry’s stomach twist. “Well, I’ve heard Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays for our team. And Eleanor told me what she did _in confidence,_ so I can’t tell you.”

Harry picks at a fray in his towel, lump in his throat. “What about… what about the last one?”

Louis watched him squirm before he shrugs. “Never really thought about it before, to be honest. I think it’s more about the connection than the actual thing, you know?”

Andre comes running over, dripping with icy water, before Harry can respond.

 *****

Lake day sucks because Harry gets sand where he doesn’t want it. After dinner and before the campfire, the counselors collectively decide to shower. The bathroom is communal, with two stalls and a bench with mold beneath it that the counselors have been complaining about for the past few years.

“I call dibs on first!” Niall shouts, running into the showers before anyone can object. Harry pulls on Zayn’s sleeve to get to the shower next, but Louis gets there first.

Because of course he does.

Harry plops down on the molded bench as he waits, shower bag in hand. Zayn sits beside him, knees pulled to his chest while Liam shrugs and decides to shower later, citing something about a game of freeze tag as he exits.

Harry feels a bit awkward; he and Zayn have never really clicked. He’s always been a little bit intimidated by him, both by how good looking and how cool he is, and by the weird feeling of competition to be Louis’ best friend he’s always felt. Zayn and Louis will smoke behind the dining commons late at night sometimes without inviting Harry.

And he knows he doesn’t need to be in every aspect of Louis’ life, but thinking that he’d rather hang out with Zayn is scary. 

“Lake was cool,” Zayn says, head leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees coolly. “It was.”

And it isn’t much, but it’s something.

When Louis and Niall emerge, both too immodest for towels, Harry averts his eyes, cheeks red as he sneaks glances at Louis’ bum. But it doesn’t go unnoticed. Before he and Zayn step into the showers, Zayn pulls him aside.

“I saw that. I don’t want _anything_ white going down that drain but shampoo, okay?”

*****

Harry pulls his blankets closer to him, his nose like a frozen popsicle. His awakening is gradual, like stepping into a too cold pool.

He can’t feel his toes.

“F-fuck this insulation,” Harry whispers to himself, teeth chattering. Why couldn’t he have gotten Liam’s renovated cabin with heating? Or Louis’ with properly insulated walls?

_Louis._

Harry bites his lip, letting the plan ruminate in his mind as he tries to warm himself up. He ultimately decides it’s too desperate and romance novel-esque, so he pulls an extra sweatshirt and settles into his covers. It isn’t enough, though.

He’s still cold. And wearing three pairs of socks. Surely that means something? That’s desperation territory. Nobody should have frozen feet with three pairs of fuzzy socks on. That’s just cruel.

Harry sighs and sneaks out of bed, blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he slips on his shoes. He takes a quick glance around to be sure his campers are all asleep, finally satisfied when he pulls Adam’s covers to his nose, halting his shivers.

It’s even colder outside, the wind piercing through Harry’s blanket. He jogs to Louis’ cabin, the air burning through Harry’s nose like ice.

He opens the door as quietly as possible, letting out a sigh of relief when nobody wakes. It feels like his feet are as big as a monster’s with the sound he’s sure he’s making, but he can’t focus on much but _getting warm._

“Lo-Louis,” Harry stutters, jaw tight against the shaking. He reaches out and pulls at his shoulder.

Louis flips over, tongue wetting his lips as he takes in Harry’s hovering form with groggy, half-lidded eyes. “Harry?”

“I’m s-so cold,” Harry complains, covering his nose with the end of his blanket.

Louis doesn’t hesitate to scoot over, opening his blankets and his sleeping bag to welcome Harry in. Harry dives in, his frozen nose digging into Louis’ neck and his cold toes rubbing against Louis’ sweatpants-covered calf.

“You’re fucking freezing!” Louis whispers, arms wrapping around Harry’s middle. “So cold.”

Harry nods, eyes slipping shut in satisfaction as Louis’ warmth seeps through the covers. “You’re so warm.”

“Harry, we’ll get in so much trouble if someone finds out you slept with me in my camp bed,” Louis reminds him after a moment of silence.

Harry pulls himself closer, willing his muscles to relax as his body temperature returns to normal. “Don’t care.”

“Okay,” Louis nods and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “I don’t either, then. Worth it.”

*****

Harry’s only half paying attention to the conversation he’s having with a tiny seven-year-old camper. She’s so cute, with deep dimples and curly hair that could rival Harry’s, but he’s finally off in half an hour.

He’s off for a whole day and night. And so is Louis.

And, yes, it required a bit of string pulling, but it’s completely worth it. Because in half an hour, he and Louis will be on their way to town for a semi-fancy dinner and to the store that sells alcohol to anyone over the height of 5’ 7’’.

Harry nods during all the right times, encouraging her to elaborate as he watches the clock outside the dining hall. She’s full of stories, the things her grandma bought her while on a trip and the game she made up with her friend the other day and how she was brave and didn’t cry when she was homesick, so it makes the time fly by.

As the clock strikes 7, Harry apologetically tells her he has to go, catching Louis’ eye from across the patchy field. He nods his head to the side, silently asking if he’s ready to go.

*****

“God, I’ve missed real food,” Louis groans, mouth full of pasta. “Not the frozen vegetables and lunch meat and halfway fermented apples. This is so good.”

Harry smiles into his plate. “I know. This was such a good idea.”

“Well,” Louis wipes the corner of his mouth on a napkin. “We couldn’t just do _nothing_ on our day off. That would be a complete waste. Carpe diem, right? What screams _seizing the day_ better than eating good food and attempting a misdemeanor?”

“And later,” Harry reminds him.

Later. _Later._ Where they’ll be drunk beneath the stars and with hopefully no bugs crawling across their faces. Harry’s hoping the liquid courage will force them into admitting things, discussing what’s been going on, revealing the truths they’ve been sitting on for (in Harry’s case) years.

“That too,” Louis sends him a soft smile from above his spaghetti. “Later.”

 *****

“Louis!” Harry shouts, “I am very, very, _very_ drunk.”

Louis tries to smile with the lip of the bottle between his teeth. “Me too.”

A dribble of alcohol leaks from the corner of his mouth. He wipes it away with his sleeve and falls back onto the blanket, his head just to the left of the pillow they preemptively left for sleeping, then bursts out laughing.

Harry turns his back on the view, eyes narrowing to take in Louis’ curled up form. They’re at the top of the mountain, the scenery _amazing,_ but the glittering cars as small as ants and the way the nearby placid lake is sparkling in the moonlight can’t compare to Louis on his worst day.

He lets out an involuntary smile as he stumbles over to Louis, trying not to trip on the growing weeds.

“What’re you laughing at Lou?” Harry slurs out as he drops to his knees beside him.

Louis keeps laughing as he turns over to press his cheek into Harry’s thigh. He bites at his pajama pants, but when he pulls back, the cotton sticks to the inside of his lip. Louis makes a big show of extracting his mouth, giggles bursting through him in quick intervals as his eyes droop shut.

He flops onto his back once he’s free, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “Come here.”

Harry tries to tug the blanket down to climb in beside him, but Louis won’t let go.

“How’m I supposed to get in if you won’t let me?” Harry asks, fake exasperated.

“Oops,” Louis giggles, reaching out to pull at Harry’s collar. “M’cold. Sorry.”

Harry’s eyes widen as Louis pulls him down beside him, wrestling them both under the too-thin blanket. Louis sticks a leg between his and burrows his face in his neck, his arms curling in close to his chest, elbows against Harry’s stomach and fingers dragging against Harry’s collarbones.

Louis takes in a deep steadying breath that moves both of them. He clears his throat and shakes his head as if he’s attempting to clear it.

“I need to talk to you,” he says almost seriously. “About things. You know the types of things. The _things.”_

“The things,” Harry repeats, head nodding in understanding. He thinks he understands. _Things_ sounds important.

“You know the things, right?” Louis asks again.

“Of course I know the things,” Harry nods again, seriously. He thinks that maybe he really does know, deep down. At the moment, he can’t quite recall exactly what _the things_ are though.

“Good. Because I want you to go first,” Louis hides his face. “I’m embarrassed about the things.”

“Why are you embarrassed about the things?” Harry questions. Louis doesn’t get embarrassed. Ever. That much Harry knows, no matter how much alcohol is burning through his veins.

Louis shrugs and pets at Harry’s collarbones, eyelashes brushing against Harry’s neck. “Because the things are embarrassing.”

“Wait. What’re the things?” Harry asks, his brain blank.

Louis’ fingers curl into a fist. “The things are what we’re doing. What we’ve been doing. What we’re going to be doing.”

Harry’s heart lurches. Those _are_ important things. He’s not sure he’s up to the conversation, whether he’d be able to verbalize everything he’s been feeling, but he wants to try. They’ve been sitting on truths for so long that Harry’s desperate to run. He’s desperate to move, to stand and go somewhere, one way or another.

“Yeah, that’s important things,” Harry agrees, trying to sober up as his heart hammers. “I just, like, love you a lot.”

Louis’ body stills. Harry has never regretted his no-filter alcohol side effect more.

“I mean, like, as a friend. But also I like you a lot. And I have for, like, a while. A long time. You’re special to me. Like, a special special friend.”

“You’re special to me, too,” Louis whispers to him. “But _Harry._ It’s our last summer together.”

Harry frowns as a shiver takes over him. “That doesn’t mean we can’t make it a _good_ summer.”

“It’s already been a good summer,” Louis says. “But we’re going to different colleges and I don’t want you to miss out. But I also don’t want us to just… forget about us. But I’m afraid if we just let things happen this summer, it will make saying goodbye even harder. I don’t want to have a piece of you and never be able to have you again. That would hurt so, so much.”

Harry rubs at Louis’ waist as he pouts. “What’s that one Shakespeare quote about better to have loved and fucked up than not loved and been sad?”

Louis laughs. “I don’t think that’s how it goes.”

“That’s exactly how it goes,” Harry argues.

Louis giggles at that, face still buried in Harry’s neck, but his laughs quickly turn into hiccups.

“Harry, I’m so drunk and now I’m also so sad. What if I had dated _you_ for all those years? Imagine where we’d be. I’m so sad.”

“Hey,” Harry frowns. “We’ve had such a good time together, dating or not. I love you so much. I’d never change a thing.”

“You promiseeee?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, cheek rubbing up against Louis’ hair. “You’re my favorite.”

“Mine too,” Louis says desperately. He rolls over, trapping Harry beneath him. He squeezes Harry’s shoulders, their noses practically touching. “Does this mean I can finally kiss you? I’ve wanted to for so long. Probably longer than I should admit because I wasn’t exactly single when I started liking you. _Oops!_ But you just, like, you’re irresistible. And I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Yeah,” Harry gulps, eyes narrowed and glued to Louis’ lips. “Kiss me. Please. I’ve waited for so long.”

Louis nods, his lips trembling as he ducks down and presses them to Harry’s.

Harry feels their truths burn behind his eyelids. The heat seeps from his lips down to his neck, through his veins and straight through to his heart as Louis’ fingertips dig into his shoulders. Louis’ mouth tastes like cheap vodka, like honesty and relief with a hint of desperation. His lips are insistent, pressing against Harry’s like he’s trying to remember something that’s never happened before.

Harry clutches at Louis’ waist, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as Louis moves his fingers to Harry’s hair. His nails dig into Harry’s scalp as he opens his mouth, his teeth dragging against Harry’s bottom lip.

Harry pulls him closer, lips parting to suck on Louis’ bottom lip. Louis lets out an eager sound, his nose bumping against Harry’s.

“Fuck,” Louis groans, chest heaving against Harry’s. He gives him a quick kiss before leaning their foreheads together. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Less talking, more kissing,” Harry mumbles against his lips, his hands dipping down to the curve of Louis’ lower back. “Don’t wanna waste any more time.”

Louis nods, bottom lip between his teeth as they breathe each others' air. “We’ve already wasted so much.”

Louis ducks back down, lips soft but persistent.

Time seems to cease, the sounds of the crickets and breeze paused because Harry’s every sense is focused on Louis, on the warmth of his mouth, the comfort of his fingers in his hair, and the way they seem to merge into one the longer they kiss.

They only stop when Louis knocks over the mostly empty bottle of vodka with his elbow. The liquid pours out, wetting the blanket and spilling over Harry’s shoulder.

Louis giggles and bites his lip. “Oops.”

Harry throws his head back, drunk on happiness and vodka. “It’s okay.”

Louis smiles and folds his arms across Harry’s chest, resting his chin on his knuckles. “We just kissed.”

Harry nods, unable to hold in his bright smile. “We _did._ Finally. I loved it.”

Louis turns his head, now resting his cheek to his knuckles. “Me too. Just as good as I hoped. Maybe more. You taste like summer.”

“Maybe because it _is_ summer,” Harry laughs. Louis shrugs, not moving his head.

“Maybe summer tastes like you.”

Harry’s mind is clearing up, but that still makes no sense to him.

Before he can ask, Louis stiffens.

“Oh no,” he curls in on himself. “Oh God. I’m going to throw up.”

Louis climbs off of him, hardly making it past the edge of the blanket before his chest is heaving, gags retching from his throat.

Harry holds his hair back as he vomits, eyes averted as Louis struggles to get everything out.

He makes sure Louis brushes his teeth before they climb back below the blanket, cuddled together as they shiver.

*****

The next morning is hell. Louis is hung over and still dry heaving, and Harry’s headache feels like a drill pounding on his brain.

Louis curls into a ball, his back to Harry. “Remind me to never buy nine dollar vodka ever again.”

Harry rubs at his temple, the blanket pushed below his knee. “That’s a given.”

They lie there for another hour, fighting their hangovers until they feel up to standing. They pack the blankets and pillows into their backpacks, and then begin the slow descent to the waterfall.

It’s a hidden spot, untouched by the rest of the camp. They found it the first year they were counselors while exploring on their day off. It’s concealed by a splattering of trees and questionable berry bushes, a tiny slice of paradise.

By the time they reach the waterfall, they’re both feeling better.

They change into swim trunks, blushing as they turn away from each other and pretend not to be peeking. Harry’s yellow shorts are a nice contrast to Louis’ blue, short and bright.

Louis dips his toe into the lake and hisses, retracting it quickly.

“It’s fucking freezing,” he gasps, nipples perking up.

Harry doesn’t dip his toes in, too afraid of the chill. “Let’s just jump in then.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Did you not hear what I said?”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah. But we have to go in. Might as well just get it over with. We can jump from the waterfall.”

Louis’ face screams trepidation, but he eventually nods. He grabs Harry’s hand and they climb the rocks to get to the top of the waterfall. Halfway through, he turns and wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, surprising him with a kiss.

Harry kisses back, lips quirking up at the side in shock. He’s happy last night hasn’t been forgotten in a fog of alcohol and regret, that Louis is still just as into him as he seemed last night. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, pulling him closer as he nips at Louis bottom lip.

“I’m glad this is still okay,” Louis murmurs into his mouth. Harry swallows his words, grinning when Louis begins to pull at his hair.

“Always okay,” Harry mumbles, tongue brushing against Louis’ lip.

They kiss until Harry’s breathless, his stomach full of butterflies and his heart pumped full of exhilaration. Louis drags him away to the waterfall once his fingers dip below Louis’ waistband, shy smiles on both of their faces.

Louis’ fingers are solid between Harry’s once they reach the top of the waterfall. They both stare down into the blue water, nodding before sharing a quick kiss and jumping. 

And there’s a _lot_ of kissing after that. Making out with the splash from the waterfall against their necks as they float. Nibbling on each others' lips as they try to stay afloat with their legs kicking. Soft kisses as they lie out and dry off. Underwater kisses that make Louis’ eyes sting and lungs ache. Good luck kisses before they jump from the top of the waterfall for the third time. Affectionate kisses after Harry rubs sunscreen into Louis’ burning shoulders. Happy kisses as they sip from their water bottles. Shy kisses after they whisper how happy they are that they’re here, together.

It’s Harry’s favorite day off he’s ever had.

 *****

Hikes suck. Harry hates the incline. He hates the way the kids always ask for a piggyback ride when he feels like he can’t even hold himself up. He hates the bugs and the dirt and the way he can’t pee without the terrifying fear that something will bite his dick off.

But with Louis and Andre at his sides as the dwindle in the back, it’s easier.

“I’m tired,” Andre complains. He slows down, pouting.

“Hey, we’ll be there soon,” Harry tells him, smiling in encouragement. “Just a few more miles.”

Andre groans and kicks at a rock. “I’m tired.”

And then Andre does something shocking: he runs off into the shrubbery.

Harry calls after him, eyes wide in shock. When Andre doesn’t turn around, Harry rushes in after him.

The trees are thick, but Andre’s shows have left imprints in the mud. Harry follows the trail, calling after Andre the whole time.

His heart is pounding, the terror of actually _losing_ one of his campers on his watch closing in on him. He calls Andre’s name again, and is relieved when he gets a short, stuffy, “I’m here.”

“Andre,” Harry sighs out, hand to his chest as he drops down to sit beside him, backs to a large tree trunk. He can feel mud seeping into his shorts, but Harry doesn’t care.

“Why did you run off?” Harry asks.

Andre shrugs, digging a twig into the ground.

“I miss home,” he finally whispers. “I miss my big sister.”

“Aw,” Harry frowns, wrapping an arm around Andre’s shoulder as he begins to cry. “You’ll see them soon. There’s only a few weeks left of camp. Think of how exciting it will be to see them again and how many fun stories you’ll have for them!”

Andre wipes below his eyes. “I guess. I just miss everyone.”

“I miss my parents, too,” Harry comforts him, fingers firm against his shoulder. “But you’re being so brave. Why didn’t you tell me you were homesick before? I could have requested you a call home.”

Andre’s lower lip wobbles. “I didn’t wanna seem like a wimp.”

“It isn’t wimpy to need someone,” Harry reminds him. “Everyone needs someone sometimes.”

“You don’t think I’m being a baby?” Andre sniffles.

“Of course not,” Harry says. “Hey. I’ll tell you what. If you finish the hike with us, when we get back to camp you can call your sister and parents. Does that sound good?”

Andre sighs and nods. “Real good.”

“Good,” Harry grins. “Now if you’ll just—fuck!”

Harry doesn’t even have time to regret his use of an expletive around an eleven year old because of the pain spreading from his neck, like a bee sting.

“Sorry,” Harry rushes out, fingers moving to his neck. He screams rather pathetically when his fingers brush against a spider, flinging it away from him.

“What’s happening?” Andre asks, slightly hysterical. 

Harry gulps, noting that the sting is still painful. “It’s nothing.”

Harry stands, ignoring the bite and reaching for Andre to help pull him up. “But I think we have to get back to the trail now. They’ve probably left us behind.”

Andre nods and lets Harry help him up. The journey back to the trail is short but uncomfortable, Harry’s neck throbbing.

Louis is pacing the trail when they exit the trees. He stops and lets out a breath of relief when they come into view, hand over his heart.

“You guys almost gave me a heart attack! Everyone else is already way ahead of us.”

Harry apologizes and touches his fingers to his neck. “Sorry. Should we—should we try to catch up then?”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow, his expression concerned. “Harry? You okay?” 

Harry nods, taking in a deep breath. “Yeah. Think I just got a bug bite.”

Louis hurries over to his side, his eyes glued to his neck. He touches his fingers there gently. “It looks like you got bitten. There’s two little holes here. What was it?”

Harry shrugs, ignoring the pain in the surrounding area. “Not sure. But I think I’ll be fine.”

Five minutes into the walk uphill, Harry realizes he’s very much not fine. He’s finding it difficult to breathe, his chest hurts, and it feels like his muscles are cramping. He reaches out to Louis’ shoulder, stopping him in the middle of his explanation to Andre on the history of N’Sync.

“I can’t—I don’t think I’m okay,” Harry wheezes. “My chest. It hurts to breathe.”

Louis’ eyes widen in alarm as he steps closer. “Your neck looks red. And it’s spreading. Shit.”

He has the same look of terror he had when Lottie fell out of a tree and broke her arm. It scares Harry.

“I think I’m taking you to the hospital,” Louis says, tone panicked. “That doesn’t look good. You look really pale.”

Harry feels weak, his brain short-circuiting. “I don’t feel great.”

“What’s happening?” Andre asks, fingers tugging at the hem of Harry’s shirt.

“We’re taking Harry to the hospital,” Louis tells him, wrapping a strong arm around Harry’s waist. “He’s not feeling well. So we’re getting him help.”

Andre looks horrified, his eyes wide and nervous. “Because I ran away?”

“No,” Harry tells him. “It’s just a spider bite.”

The journey downhill is in and out for Harry, his eyes drooping and his brain zoning out as he focuses on breathing. Louis whispers encouraging words into his ear, telling him how well he’s doing and how he’s not going to let him suffer any longer than he has to. His fingers rub up and down his side, a comforting presence as Harry feels pain and heat spread from his chest down to his stomach, his muscles cramping.

The car ride is a blur of Louis’ hand on his thigh and screeching tires and Andre’s sniffling in the backseat. The pain worsens, making Harry shiver and twitch as Louis speeds over the bumps and around curves. Normally Harry would be nervous and tell him to slow down, that he’s driving like an irresponsible teenager, but Louis is so focused, so determined with his knuckles white on the wheel, that Harry can’t bring himself to speak.

The hospital is a haze of Louis and Andre answering questions as Harry’s rushed around in a wheelchair, Louis’ hand strong on his shoulder until they lay Harry on his back in the hospital bed. Then it’s in and out, Louis’ lips pressed to his knuckles as he grips his hand in both of his.

Black widows can be deadly. His full recovery takes a few days.

 *****

Harry wakes up to peanut butter coating the doorknob. Harry wipes it with a napkin, smiling at how gentle Louis has been with him since the spider bite incident. His pranks are so harmless, more things to make Harry smile than actually upset him.

Breakfast is a social affair, full of Eleanor complaining about Jenny and Louis presenting him with a peanut butter sandwich just to spite him. Louis rubs his palm up and down Harry’s thigh under the table, though, so he’s not too worried.

Harry pulls on Louis’ arm and they sneak out early, hiding behind the dining commons and kissing until they’re late to their next activity. They sneak away during the campfire that night, too, which ends with Harry straddling Louis on top of a picnic table, both of them high off of the adrenaline of sneaking around.

Harry feels so _elated._ He’s having such an amazing time living out his high school fantasies, Louis’ taste never fading from his lips. It continues that way for the next few weeks, sneaking kisses and into each others' beds when it’s cold, holding hands at the back of the hike and sharing secret glances over their s’mores.

Harry’s cabin glues googly eyes all over Louis’ cabin, but Louis just says it made him feel like Harry was watching him as he slept, and he found it calming.

Everything is going so well. Harry can imagine that nothing will change, that the summer is just the beginning of something beautiful, but Louis’ words from the night they drank too much vodka are still vibrating in his mind. He knows what Louis meant about not wanting a piece if he can never have any of him ever again. Harry can feel that the end of summer will be painful, will hurt and feel like the rolling credits of a bittersweet movie and end in tears and heartbreak.

But for now, Harry just appreciates the kissing, the touching, being with Louis while he can.

*****

The end of the summer comes sooner than Harry would like. The annual final day challenge creeps up like a child playing hide and seek, unexpectedly and suddenly.

Harry’s team is accurately named “The Bestest,” though he’s not quite feeling confident in their abilities to win. Harry’s brain is only half into the challenge, too focused on the fact that it’s their last full day of camp. Tomorrow, Louis will drive them both home and there will only be two weeks until Harry moves into his dorm room.

He only has two weeks left. If that.

“Harry,” Andre tugs at his sleeve. “You look sad. Do you not think we’re winning?”

Harry forces a smile and shakes his head. “Nah. We’re totally winning. Adam’s got some serious arm muscle. We have the tug of war in the bag.”

“What about the other stuff?” Andre asks.

Harry glances across the field to where Louis is knelt in front of one of his campers, his heart clenching. “We’ve got this, no worries.”

The first challenge is a relay race. Harry stretches alongside Louis and Leigh Anne at the second to last circuit as the horn goes off, signaling for the campers to begin their run.

“Hope you’re both ready to be annihilated,” Leigh Anne raises her eyebrows with one foot to the floor, the other stretched at the knee. “These legs aren’t so long for nothing." 

“Ah,” Louis shakes out his arms. “These thighs aren’t so thick for nothing, either.”

Harry involuntarily glances down to Louis’ thighs. They _are_ thick. The best kind of thick. Yum.

Soon, the race reaches them. Leigh Anne predictably outruns both of them (though Harry swears her campers go to her a few seconds before either his or Louis’) but Harry surprises himself with how quickly he pumps his legs.

Leigh Anne’s team wins, not that Harry truly cares. He’s still too preoccupied with the thought of how soon the summer will be over, and as a result, the end of his _thing_ with Louis.

After a quick pep talk to Harry’s sulking campers, they take a quick juice break and then gear up for the blow up obstacle course. Counselors sit this challenge out, so Harry finds himself pressed up against Niall on a bench below a shady tree “supervising.”

Niall stares at Harry as he picks at his nail, trying not to be downtrodden over the fact that Louis left to go sneak a smoke with Zayn rather than spending time with him.

“So. You and Lou are together for real now, right?” Niall asks.

Harry snaps his head up. “What? No. We’re just, like, friends. But good friends. Who... hang out.”

Niall gives him an incredulous look. “That’s why you’ve been sneaking into each others' beds at night and sneaking behind the bathrooms to make out? Everyone knows. I think even Mr. Walsh knows. _Everyone_ knows.”

Harry feels hip lip quiver. “We’ve kind of talked about it. But we kind of… haven’t. Too.”

“Hm,” Niall hums. “What do you mean?”

Harry shrugs and drops his forehead to Niall’s shoulder. “When we were drunk. Louis told me he liked me and everything. And I told him I… liked him too. But we didn’t really define what we are. Or what we’re doing once summer ends. He said he didn’t want to forget about us but the timing sucked. And that he didn’t want us to miss out on anything. It’s just. Shitty timing.”

“Harry,” Niall sighs. “Timing is never good. You can always find an excuse.”

“But this _really_ isn’t good timing. We won’t see each other until the holidays. That’s _months_ away.”

“So?” Niall asks. “You’re head over heels for the guy. I don’t think a few months will ruin what’s been building up since I first met you. Now that you’ve finally gotten your shit together. Kind of.”

“Our shit isn’t together,” Harry sniffles. “We’re like. The opposite of together.”

“What about halfway together?” Niall suggests.

Harry lets out a watery laugh. “I guess that works too.”

 *****

Halfway through the in-woods scavenger hunt, Harry can’t take it anymore. The unsure nature of his and Louis’ relationship is too much. He sends his group of campers along with Niall’s while they’re in search of a rare purple flower and journeys off to where he thinks he hears Louis’ voice.

It takes him a few minutes to find him, following the muddy footprints, but then he’s there, bent low while plucking a caterpillar from a leaf. 

"Lou,” Harry begs. “I need to know we’re okay.”

Louis drops the caterpillar, spinning around to face Harry. “What?”

Harry bites his lip, aware of all of Louis’ campers’ eyes on him. “Like… what we’re doing. What we will do. For real this time.”

Louis’ jaw tightens. “Guys. Don’t get out of my sight, but keep looking for the things on the list, okay?”

He hands a paper to a camper with short-cropped hair, then makes his way to Harry’s side.

“We don’t need to do this now—”

“Then _when?”_ Harry bursts out. “When if not now? We don’t have much time. In less than two weeks I’ll be away at school. Away from you.”

Louis’ chest seems to collapse. “Harry, can we do this tonight? Once our cabins are asleep? Maybe at the place behind the bathrooms? Where we kissed after the bonfire that one night? I just—I don’t want this to be rushed while half my mind is on whether one of my campers is going to wander off, okay? I promise we can talk about it, though. I’ll be there.”

Harry’s arms wrap around his stomach. “I guess.”

“No—” Louis steps closer, eyes darting around to check to see if anyone’s looking. He presses his lips to Harry’s quickly, an edge of longing to it. “”I promise. It will be fine. I’ll see you tonight.”

Harry hopes it’s true.

 *****

Harry sneaks out of the cabin with quiet feet, heart pounding the closer he gets to Louis.

But it quiets once he reaches the trees behind the bathroom. Louis is leaning against a tree with one foot pressed up against the bark, his lip between his teeth.

“Harry,” he pushes off as soon as he comes into view. “Babe. Come here.”

Harry steps into Louis’ outstretched arms without hesitation, his breathing heavy. Louis’ arms feel so right wrapped around his waist, like he’s belonged there for years but was only just given the key. He breathes into his beck, smelling the boy and dried sweat that indicates Louis hasn’t yet showered.

“What are we gonna do?” Harry asks, his arms still wrapped around Louis. “I don’t want this to just… end. Now that I’ve been able to kiss you and hold your hand and it’s felt so _good.”_

Louis rubs at his sides then squeezes tighter. “Harry. I’m just one boy. You’ll find someone better this fall if you want to. If you _try._ I don’t want you to miss out on anything just because you think you want to be with me. There’s such a big world out there, babe.”

Harry feels his knees go weak. “I don’t want anyone but you, though.”

Louis gently pushes at his shoulders, standing them a foot apart. “You say that now. But you’ve never—like, I’ve had a boyfriend before. A steady boyfriend. I know what dating is. You _don’t._ I don’t want to trap you. I want you to explore and enjoy university. I don’t want you to feel suffocated and for you to only be able to see me behind a screen for months at a time. You deserve to be loved and touched and doted on. And I don’t think I can do that for you if we’re not even going to school in the same city.”

Harry feels a tear slip from his eye. He doesn’t wipe it away. “But I thought you didn’t want a piece of me if you couldn’t have it forever.”

Louis’ face breaks. “I know. I _don’t._ I want you to be my boyfriend so much, Harry. So much. But I don’t want to hold you back either.”

“You don’t think I’m capable of knowing what I want and what I think will be holding me back?” Harry asks. “You’re smart, Lou, but I am _too_. I know what I can and can’t deal with. And I wanna be with you. I wanna try. I’d never be okay with having you and just letting you go.”

Louis shakes his head. “Harry…”

“No,” Harry tells him. “Long distance is hard and it sucks and if it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t. But I’m just saying I don’t know why we couldn’t even _try._ I’ve known you for so long. And I know that I’ve wanted you the whole time.”

Louis still looks torn. “Babe…”

“Stop!” Harry feels like yelling. “Can you just. This is me asking you to be my boyfriend. I want you no matter what. And if you don’t want me, that’s fine. But I want you and I’m asking you to be mine if you will.”

Louis licks his lip. “On a few conditions. Maybe.”

“What?” Harry feels anger surge up in him, confusing and sudden. “You’re not supposed to give your boyfriend an ultimatum—”

“Shh,” Louis interrupts him with a finger to his lips. “Not an ultimatum. A request.”

Harry remains skeptical.

“It’s just. If you _ever_ begin to have any doubts. Or if you meet someone new and you think they’d be a better match or you just want to explore single life at school or just. Anything. I don’t want you to feel trapped. I’ll understand, okay?”

“I won’t—“

“But if you _do,”_ Louis insists. “Just. I need a promise. That you won’t hesitate to tell me. I don’t want you to feel stuck with me. I don’t want you to resent me. Because I think if it didn’t work out now, we’d still find each other in the end.”

Harry nods. “I think we would too.”

“We’re perfect for each other,” Louis agrees.

Harry bites his lip, smiling through the previous gloom. “Does that mean you’re saying yes? That you’re my boyfriend.”

Louis shrugs, lips turning at the corners. “I think I am. We’re boyfriends.”

“Boyfriend,” Harry tastes the word on his tongue. “I like that.”

“Good,” Louis sighs. “Now come here. I think my boyfriend deserves to be kissed senseless.”

So Harry does. He steps into Louis’ space and crowds him against a tree, savoring the taste of his lips for what feels like the first time. The kiss has a hint of declaration, of claiming, and it tastes sweet.

And the thing is, Harry doesn’t know for sure that it will be okay. He doesn’t know if he’ll be with Louis for the rest of the summer or the first semester of school or until they’re old and grey and only have a few real teeth left. He doesn’t know if Louis will find someone else or regret this or change his mind a few weeks into school. He doesn’t know if Louis is as sure of everything as he is, but of one thing Harry is sure.

He’s in love with his best friend. And that's enough for now.


End file.
